


Your Goggles, George.

by SmearJones



Category: Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Fanfiction, First Fanfic teehee, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, George is now not colourblind I guess, I forgot George was colourblind halfway through, Internal Hurt, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swearing, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, hopefully a happy ending, i dont know honestly, lgbtq+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:01:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29393772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmearJones/pseuds/SmearJones
Summary: When George goes through a stressful patch in his life, his feelings become unclear, warped, and twisted. That's all im going to say <3I've literally never written fanfic so please excuse cliche or annoying topics.-------------If Dream, George, or anyone stated in this DNF fanfic declares they're uncomfortable by the ship and fan fictions, this will be taken down <3
Relationships: Dream/GeorgeNotFound, dreamnotfound - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38





	1. Hand Sanitizer and Cat Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> I- Yikes. Bad time for George I guess. Chapter 2 coming soon if ANYONE likes this lmaO.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck... Fuck, FUCK!!"

George yelled loudly, pulling at the roots of his dark chocolate hair. He walked into his bedroom to find his new kitten on the floor, on his side.

The little snowball's breathing was staggered and laboured as much as it could be from a kitten that size (being small enough to fit into the palm of his hand). His small and weak ribcage heaved up and down from the intense laboured breathing.

The lightly coloured kitten winced as George slid his hand under his limp body. George carefully slid the small kitten into his jumper pocket, providing a small, comforting space.

George scoured the house in search for his car keys, looking everywhere possible. His head was flooding full of thoughts, all too dreadful to even speak of.

George didn't bother getting a cat carrier. He was already tearing down the highway, one hand on the wheel and the other one with the little snowball of a cat on his lap, breathing still mimicking a bad quality and stressed computer fan.

The thoughts of his new kitten possibly... His spare hand's index finger was already hurting from his intense nail-biting. He glanced down at his finger in comparison to the neighbouring ones, and his fingernail had halved in size.

Stepping out of his car, he could smell the foul scent of diesel from the nearby car workshop. He stood there, glaring at the giant "VET" sign.

Its green plus sign with a whited-out dog inside echoed bad memories inside his head of his last cat's passing. The white, England snow piled up at this time of the year, leaving only a small visible brick and glass door entrance to the vet building.

His dark eyes darted around the building, trying to find instant assistance, still shivering from standing in the snow outside. He took the fragile, weak snowball of a cat out of his front pocket, and softly pressed his thumb onto his head, slowly feeling his fur as he moved his thumb down his back.

He could smell the aggravating fumes of Hand Sanitizer mixing with animal faeces, medicine and stiff air conditioning. The smell of hospitals always made him gag.

Finally, a vet nurse saw the troubled English man, pale and frantic. He memorised the feeling of his kitten’s fur as the nurse took down his details and took his little snowball away from him. It was curled up in the palms of the nurses’ small, petite hands that were somehow smaller than his.

George sat on the waiting bench, bitting his other fingers at a more accelerated pace. It was only until he nipped his ring finger a little too hard where he swore softly.

“Shit...” George muttered with a more gravelly voice than his usual sweet and soothing voice, that usually could put out the deadliest fire with one, soft, cooling word. The British looked down at the tiny raw patch on his ring finger that began to slowly bleed, red slowly rising to the open wound.

It seemed like his eyes had the same idea as it dawned at him at once. His little snowball was what got him through Luca’s death, and he might have to go through the grieving process again, all on his own.

He urgently thought of what to do, as he wouldn’t ever be able to break down that vet lab door to see his precious little snowball one last time.

He slowly scrolled through his phone, sucking on his ring finger; trying to stop the blood. Once he located the familiar pale blue discord icon, he glared into the icon’s obvious eyes.

_They were the same colour as his snowball’s eyes. The icon itself was the same colour of his fluffy, cuddly, affectionate snowball._ The British man thought as he starred down the innocent discord icon.

He pressed his thumb onto the digital square icon. The dark grey screen loaded with a swirl that was comforting and pleasing to his slightly teary eyes. Red numbers in the hundreds piled in, most were pings from fans, servers and groups be barely bothered to talk in. His eyes darted to the top of his list where a familiar face.

In the very top of his pings list, a white, round icon with a derpy black smiled flushed into George’s memory. It was probably the most recognisable person to George purely based on a mediocre icon.

_Dream._

He glanced to the red number. _Over FIFTY messages!?_ George thought hard, trying to think what the subject might be.

For a moment he forgot about all of his worries while his mind wandered away from the subject at hand and about hearing Dream’s raspy and burning voice trickling through his British ears for the first time today.

Although he had no feelings for his friend, his deep, almost flaming voice would always fill his stomach full of American-offset butterflies.

Whatever Dream had said may have to wait, as George’s British ears heard the medical doors open with a smooth creak. His head shot up, seeing the familiar nurse who took away his little snowflake.

George waited for her to speak as he stoop up from his seat, still holding onto the back of his chair as he slowly rose.

“Are you George?” The female vet assistant asked sympathetically, soon being on eye level with George as he stood up.

Without thinking, George thought about the worst. His eyes teared up more, and his cheeks began to burn with a patchy and warm crimson as he croakily a replied to the nurse. “Is he gone?”

The nurse let her tense eyebrows go as her soothing sympathetic eyes looked into George’s dark brown eyes before looking back to her pale blue clipboard.

“Not quite yet, George, but be prepared. He’s quite young and fragile, surgery may be a high-risk factor for him.” The nurse soothingly stated, keeping a slow, expression-filled and understanding tone.

George’s heart dropped.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George looked down at his lap, absolutely soiled from his burning, salty tears. His breathing became staggered like his cat’s when he found him, gasping for air.

George pulled harshly at his near-black hair and he sobbed loudly in his car. A million different scenarios raced through the man’s head, all too many to keep up. Some positive, some extremely negative and some completely unrelated.

_Like Dream._

He had not even opened his messages that he’d seen at least 30 minutes ago in his inbox, let alone respectfully reply to them as a good friend would.

His adrenaline was so high that he began thinking of completely unrelated but still as negative scenarios. How did his precious little boy get to that point? What caused him to breathe like a suffocating walrus.

_What was he thinking?_

George needed to clear his mind, and try push through whatever it was that way happening right now… nothing TOO serious would happen… _right?_

The dream was always that comforting voice George itched to hear every day. Even though they were more than an entire ocean away, he felt as if that Dream had become a much closer family member than half of his family ever was, and also knew George inside and out.

_Maybe he should message Dream…_

He tapped on the derpy black and white smile that always seemed to haunt his happiest thoughts and began scrolling through his messages.

_F U C K_

George’s eyes darted across the messages and remembered the discussion from two nights ago. They had planned to film.

**2 hours ago.**

His face of guilt was reflected into his black phone screen that he had switched off. Dream was sat in a private call, alone, in George’s DM’s while he waited for the British man to finally get online for their recording session.

George bit his lip, looking outside to the icy winter wonderland. He reluctantly let his phone reperform the facial recognition process as he let out a fatigued sigh.

_Another message from Dream?_ George thought deeply, trying to figure out the best way to wiggle his way out of this slippery situation.

_Join call_

_Sent 30 seconds ago…_ George thought about it deeply, and the only thing his stressed mind could wander to is hearing his blazing voice talk to him.

Thirty seconds later, the VC usual entry audio played, and George instantly regretted his decision.

\-----------------------------------------------------


	2. Tear-Stained-Pants Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gogy leaves the clinic, emotional and foggy-minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for the Kudos and Comments! This has been my first fic so I'm happy people have actually enjoyed it. See you guys hopefully tomorrow or the day after for another chapter or two. :)

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The usual, spicy and electrifying wheeze escaped Dream’s mouth, transmitting over thousands of miles to George’s headphones, where he sat in his tear-stained car.

He began to cackle like a witch who was enjoying themselves too much, almost unknowingly taunting George’s pain.

“ _G E O R G E_.” Dream wheezed loudly, expecting some sort of _normal_ reaction from George, as most calls started this way. One or the other would randomly start laughing that always seemed to mimic some rusty household item, whether it be a kettle or a door hinge.

George stayed quiet, listening to the dying laughter of Dream, as it became more apparent to Dream that he could hear, from _thousands_ of miles away, that George wasn’t emotionally ok.

Silence crept into the call, like a panther stalking their prey. It was followed with a brief exhale from Clay before he spoke up.

“George? If you’re talking, _your mic isn’t working_ ~” Dream would lull over the mic, playing back smoothly in George’s car.

“ _No…_ ” George quietly muttered and blew out, fighting back the tears as he turned on his car’s engine, looking once more at the vet building. “No, I’m here...”

“Are you in the _car_?” Clay followed up, curious as George never seemed to leave his apartment apart from when something serious would happen.

“ _Sorry Dream…_ ” George grunted, trying to swallow the large lump of fear that sat in the back of his throat as he pulled out of his parking space and onto the nearby road.

His mind went blank, not knowing what to say. What was he meant to apologize for? With his eyes still swollen and puffy from aggressive crying, he inhaled sharply through his nose, trying to calm himself down.

“George…? Are you ok? Why didn’t you come to the recording session today…? We waited nearly _two_ hours for you, and we didn’t hear anything from you...” Clay began, exhaling in confusion of his friend’s newfound silence.

Clay’s feelings were conflicted, as he could tell his friend wasn’t ok, but they had been planning this recording for months now. Clay was tirelessly trying to code the perfect plugin for their newest challenge video, only to have the star of the show not show up.

_After all, the plugin was a half-hearted attempt to impress George with his new coding skills that he worked relentlessly to perfect._

George tried his best, even taking one hand off the steering wheel to muffle his excruciatingly sad hiccups and harsh inhales and exhales.

He finally swallows the large lump of worry and sorrow before continuing down the parking lot and to the leaving point and tried to continue his conversation with Dream.

“Uhm… you see I- “George chuckled lightly with a deep weight deep inside his chest when he was interrupted by a sudden wave of emotions. The third one like it today.

It would catch him, pin his chest down harshly and wrap him up in sadness, quickly distinguishing any light and hope. Suffocating him in sorrows.

George tried to speak, but felt like he was drowning, and in fact, he was. He began sobbing, the concept of Clay hearing all this completely slipped from his mind, his surroundings melting outside in the parking lot, then inside the car, them himself.

He looked down at his black sweatpants and saw the endless sea of forever-drying-up salty tears, leaving small circular white rings all over his legs. His cloudy eyes shot around his car, not believing this could’ve actually happened.

Large, warm tears rolled over his burning hot and swollen cheeks, down his sharp jaw, plummeting into his lap again. And that’s when the car behind him began aggressively honking.

He sat in the entrance to the main road, not moving for about 30 seconds as he aggressively sobbed. He jumped in his seat, being brought back to his current reality.

He pushed the car onwards, with what little hope he had left, lurching his foot down onto the accelerator and quickly turning out onto the main road.

He used his sweater-paw-sleeve to wipe his patchy, crimson red, and irritated cheeks and rested both hands back on the wheel before leaning his head back as the car traveled at a steady pace.

He let out a sigh before shooting his eyes open mouthing “ _F U C K_ ” as he realized, he was still on call. Clay though respectfully stayed silent. He coughed subtly, to only not hear a reply, but also no comment or question to follow up his previous actions. He stayed quiet.

After around two minutes of silence, George slowly reached over to his radio and turned the knob softly, hearing a familiar song creep into his car’s speakers.

He glanced over to his phone while at a stoplight, seeing Dream had deafened. He didn’t know for how long, but he shrugged it off, his mind still cloudy. He turned it up softly, only barely being able to hear the words, mainly being a backing track.

“ _Oh, she knows what I think about_ _… and what I think about… One love-_ ” George would exhale briefly, feeling his heart sink as this song sat so close to home, and it was dangerous listening to this song right now.

He continued, starting to sing properly. He let his emotions flow and bloom. “- _Two mouths_ _, one love, one house. No shirts, no blouse, just us, you find out...”_

**_Sweater Weather._ **

He harshly grabbed his hoodie’s makeshift collar, imitating how he’d fantasized things to be one day, getting incredibly swept up in the song. He followed the lyric’s actions perfectly, tracing some of his fingers down his swollen, cherry lips.

The song came to a gradual end, and George’s eyes seemed to run dry from tears. Even if he _wanted_ to cry, his body physically didn’t enable it, leaving him feeling empty and heavy inside at the same time.

“George…” Clay muttered, breathing softly into the microphone.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Clay had needed to deafen. After hearing George in a frame of mind he couldn’t bear to even imagine his bubbly friend to be in… he just _had_ to. But he didn’t expect to hear what came next.

He undefended, hoping to hear his friend’s sobbing come to an end, but only to be followed up with beautiful, slightly raspy but filled-with-emotion singing of a familiar song he knew… _very well_.

He squealed slightly, quickly muffling himself with his own hand before continuing to listen to the incredibly British but talented singing.

He had to physically turn himself away from the microphone as he let out a pant, not being able to control his breathing since George started singing a song that used to torment him… _was tormenting him_. Hearing one of the most distinguishable love verses in the song flow out of his best friend’s mouth over call felt like a crime.

It brainwashed him, bringing himself back to a time of mental fights. All this song was for him was the pain of his first break up, and that pain always lingered heavily inside his ribcage as he heard the song, no matter the circumstances, although this was different.

He heard the same pain in his friend’s talented voice, and his heart felt like it disconnected itself from his body and plummeted to the center of the planet, never to know light again.

Once he heard the crackly backing track fade out and George sniffle again, almost hearing him wipe his nose; he turned back to the microphone.

“George…” Clay muttered, breathing softly into the microphone. He spoke softly, with an apologetic tone; thinking he knew the pain going through George’s heart.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

George leaned his head back onto the headrest, slowly letting go of his hoodie as he heard Dream’s remark. And at that moment, he knew he wanted his soul to leave his body, leaving an empty shell behind.

He knew Clay and himself had sung before, but all those times were _jokes_ and not actually meant to be... _genuine_.

No. Genuine had been the wrong word. He didn’t genuinely feel the song's lyrics towards anyone. He genuinely didn’t feel like making out with his cat nor Dream.

He loved his cat and Dream, but not in the context the song suggests. He just wanted his cat to be ok, and the sincerity and emotion of his singing had shown that.

**_Sincerity._ **

****

The word echoed throughout George’s head, almost describing the way Clay muttered his name. Sincere and honest.

His eyes widened as he heard the second car honk at him in the past 10 minutes. He sat there, at the front of his lane at a green light but not moving. Cars flowed around him as he zoned back into reality, almost pissing himself at the fact he wasn’t driving perfectly.

The call stayed silent until George got home. He longingly looked at the well-used Tupperware cat food container, knowing he wouldn’t be feeding his little snowball tonight.

It was funny, he still hadn’t named his fluffball and kept referring to them as his little “ _Snowball_ ”. It hadn’t bothered him, as he knew there wasn’t a name that could go with how sweet, understanding and affectionate his snowball was.

He tossed his car keys onto the kitchen counter as he carried his phone into his room, where he took off his tear-stained clothes and shoes, opting out for a more comfortable pair of sweats. He once again forgot about Dream until he spoke up again.

You see, Dream had become so… _emotional_ after hearing George, that he physically had to leave the house and stand outside with his cat, taking into account George’s situation.

“George... I want you to answer honestly.” Dream started, holding softly onto his nose, the rest of his hand wrapping down his face and down his sharp and slightly square jaw.

**_“Are you ok?”_ **

****

_No. Definitely not._ George thought as he took a few seconds to answer. He was about to raise his voice, telling Dream a pitiful lie such as running over a bird or accidentally losing his wallet and that was the reason for his sorrows, but he physically couldn’t lie. Not to Dream.

“Dream…” George begun, swallowing a brand new and equally as large ball made up of pride, sadness, and fear. “I… I’m not.”

**_I’m not._ **

****

The phrase banged around Dream’s head, never really having to deal with a situation like this before, especially with Gogy.

“Gogy… what’s wrong?” Dream asked in a more honest and meaningful tone than the usual kettle-wheezing Clay. He patiently waited for his friend’s answer, holding his breath.

“Its…” George’s voice pitched as he continued, taking small and common pauses throughout his sentence. “It's my… my little snowball.”


	3. A melting snowball and comforting sweats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all.
> 
> o7 George's little Snowball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the Kudos and comments so far! Hopefully I can start doing more daily and more detailed updates, as I'm really enjoying writing for you guys and I have so many interesting concepts and ideas to try!

Clay froze, hearing George’s deep and muttered words.

_George’s Snowball? What was that meant to mean?_

“ _Uhm_ … George… could you please elaborate?” Dream quietly whispered, trying to still be quiet and understanding, even if he didn’t understand any of it.

George’s heartbeat echoed throughout his head, pounding on his temples. He swallowed another large ball in his throat, that sat there stuck, almost metaphorically choking him.

“You know- “George jumped, letting out another small hiccup. He sat in silence for another second, breathing in deeply and reassuring himself. “You know my kitten? The one that I got after Luca…”

George didn’t need to explain anymore, as it all came to Dream. An overwhelming wave of emotion came over him, imagining how painful it would be for his best friend right in this current moment.

“George… I’m so sorry...” Clay begun, feeling his own heart sever its connections to his body in the most painful way possible, only beginning to imagine how heart-wrenching this must all feel to George.

“ _Clay,_ what do I do? ‘’ George continued in a slow and stiff tone. He would’ve continued if he wasn’t interrupted by his phone.

His phone screen lit up, illuminating the shady room and George’s face. It had one of those generic, memorable business numbers that you can easily remember by catchy ads.

But this one stuck in George’s head for a different reason. It was the Vet office. He let it ring out, knowing he’d ring it back in a few minutes.

“Hey Clay- 'll hop onto my computer quick…” George softly pressed his computer’s on button, also checking both of his monitors were working before his screens flickered into life, displaying his home paper.

He clicked his well-positioned discord application, which was always three icons from the left on his taskbar. Once discord itself had bloomed into life on his computer, he transferred the call from his phone to the PC.

“Hey Dream… I’ve got to take a call…” George muttered, not excited for the call up ahead.

“Ok George. Take your time.” Dream replied, biting his lip in anxiety for his friend.

You see, George attempted to mute himself, but had been so rushed that he accidentally pressed the settings button next to the mute button, turning away so fast he couldn’t notice he never actually muted himself.

Clay’s heart was being torn from his heart as George’s loud sobbing. He knew he wasn’t meant to hear this, but he couldn’t stop his own eyes from starting up their sprinkler system while listening.

He’d heard the Vet’s words. _That his airways had collapsed. He had so much stress on his body that no matter what they did, this would’ve been the outcome._

He held his hands over his nose, pressing hard as he tried to remain silent as he could only just imagine the immense amount of pain.

Clay glanced over to Patches, who was contently looking back his silently sobbing self, her paws tucked under her floofy, patchy body.

He reminded himself of the generous, tearing pain that he would feel if Patches was gone, and the same pain George is feeling right now. He could only wince at the thought of it.

George sat on the edge of his bed, half a box of tissues littered throughout his bed and room, his eyes swelled and bloodshot. His hands were shaking, and his throat burned of grief.

He walked over to the computer, waking it up from its temporary slumber. He went to go unmute himself when he heard the dreaded mute audio.

**_F U C K ._ **

****

_Had Dream heard that whole session?_ The British man thought to himself, slapping his forehead hard as he paced throughout the room, throwing profanities at himself while he was legitimately on mute this time.

He sluggishly approached the computer and unmuted himself, coughing briefly before raising his voice, still shaky and pitched from the different intensities of crying and vocal-chord-strain.

“Sorry about… _that_ Dream…” George’s voice lingered through Dreams headphones, tickling the inside of his ears as he could hear the agitation in George’s voice.

“It’s honestly… I’m more concerned about you…” Dream replied softly, empathetic for poor George. His day had been a nightmare from hell.

George sat in silence, grasping tightly onto the sweatshirt that was laying lopsided on his torso, at least 3 sizes too big for his slender, pale frame.

The dream stayed silent; cheeks slightly flushed from his own personal but silent cries. He then spoke up again, asking George a very intimate question. “How did it… happen?”

George hadn’t had time beforehand to consider how his little feline friend ended up with collapsed airways. He thought deep, rising out from his trance of sadness and into deep thought.

George concluded that he’d ingested something or had fallen and hadn’t followed the old tale of “ _Cats always land on their feet_ ”, but even the Vets were unsure.

“Um- _I’m_ _not_ _sure_ Clay.”

George now had a hard time trying to think positively. It wasn’t like he could justify his cat’s death with the classic “ _Now he’s in a better place_ ”, because the best, most loving place the young and affectionate cat could’ve been in right now was George’s arms, purring late into the night.

George now had no one. No one to love. No one to give his large sums of affection to.

_Or that’s what he thought._

_2 Days Later_

It had been a dreadful few days. All of George’s usual clothes had similar white rings of dried salt that had formed from his tears. He had no motivation to record, clean, do laundry or even use social media.

There’d only been some sort of therapy these past few days, and that’d been _Dream’s_ presence. For the past few days, Dream had scrapped live streams, recording dates, social activities just to comfort and talk to George.

They’d been on Discord calls, day in, day out. But today, George felt different.

George’s face was half-heartedly healed from the days full of aggressive weeping, so he thought he’d sort of pull himself together and facetime Dream.

George protested with himself that all he wanted was that Clay knew he was ok. That he saw his face to evidently see that Dream’s company (that was formulated of hours of kettle wheezing and warm replies) had paid off… sort of.

“Hey Dream” George spoke up warmly, but still tired. The familiar but smaller version of the smile Clay loved to see had spread across the Brit’s pale face. He was back to his normal self, as Clay thought.

Clay had noticed something when the camera went on. George’s _hair_.

Over the days, Clay suspected that George hadn’t cared for is hair, now resulting in the fluffy but ever so adorable birds’ nest that was resting on his head, giving his British friend an even cuter appearance.

“George…” Clay paused, his cheeks flushing slightly at his friend’s new look. He’d occasionally feel happy for his friends, which sometimes caused him to blush without reasoning, and it was always platonic.

Clay snapped back to attention. “Oh, Hi George!” Dream warmly replied, trying to match George’s original, calm energy.

“Hey George, you look so much better, I can tell you feel better.” Clay complimented with the best intentions.

“Thanks, Dream… you really helped me” George replied, looking straight into his phone’s camera with a half-hearted smile that was the embodiment of the _:) emoticon,_ but still slightly fatigued from the week before _._

But of course, not everything is as it seems. George was healing, but very slowly. He was still mentally stretched thin, being too scared to really open to Dream and relieve his mental baggage.

This was mentally and physically driving George and his body insane, slowly but surely. One day the mental frustration might eat him whole, trying to convince Clay that he was A-Okay had nearly drove him up the wall, and this call would be the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the time cut, as I really was running dry on ideas, and any normal person who had "no one else to love" would've probably gone through a similar grieving time. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed it!


	4. Flushed Cheeks and Parkour Servers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George pretends to be ok. He's not.

George and Clay spent another 30 minutes on call, exchanging basic conversation, casually cracking into loud cackling, and wheezing, which was 90% made up from Dream, George being too mentally tired to crack more than a few seconds of giggle.

“Hey George, how are things today?” Clay asked, easing out of a laughing session, and now wondering about his friend’s mental health.

George gulped and Dream’s question, instantly thinking of the most believable lie. “I’m feeling better now Dream… still not 100% but you’re helping me a lot.”

This comment caused a giddy tone in Dream’s voice for the next 10 minutes, but really it was all a lie.

George would often find himself “zoning out” often just so he could hear Dream repeat his sentence, claiming he zoned out or was doing another attention-grabbing activity.

Something about Clay’s voice tickled his fancy inside his brain. Maybe it was the accent? The way it tantalized his ears? Maybe sometimes it was the way it became addictive when he George playfully aggravated him, the edgy tone in his voice always electrified the air around George.

Either way, the only real help he was getting was _Dream’s voice,_ not his words. And that was painful for George, as Dream also had emotions and his voice wasn’t the only good thing about the American man.

But at the same time, it was addicting. It was like a strong drug, sending him into a deep pit of mixed feelings that would cloud his judgement, making him feel like he was falling as he would try to think clearly and pinpoint his emotions.

George had once again fallen into a deep pit full of unclear and foggy thoughts, snapping back to attention by a slightly aggravated sigh that Dream had let out, that made the hairs on the back of George’s neck stand up.

_What was wrong with him?_

Dream’s voice was always interesting, but it never made him feel like this.

He bent over, clutching the bridge of his nose tightly with frustration as he realized what he’d been doing, now finally having a clear mind ever since Dream’s simple sigh.

Something as normal as a sigh would’ve usually caused him to fall deeper into the abyss that is his foggy thoughts, but something was different about this one.

Maybe it was the slight hint of annoyance that somehow energized George, tearing him out of that endless ditch and bringing him back to his current reality.

George’s previously tensed muscles quickly eased, as he slipped into deep thought.

_Why did Clay sound annoyed?_

“Hey Clay…” George began; the air already being sucked out of his lungs via the pure stress he was already going under. “Are you annoyed with me?”

* * *

“Hey Clay… Are you annoyed with me?” is all that echoed through Dream’s head for 10 seconds straight. Where was George getting this from?

Clay had been trying to land the same parkour jump on a parkour server that he _hadn’t_ mastered all the levels on, letting out annoyed sighs when the usual parkour master fell into the water time after time.

“I get if you are… all you’ve been doing this past few days is helping me.” George continued sheepishly in his British accent. His stomach churning internally from this sudden worry.

Clay refused to blink as he thought of what to do, purely focusing on George in the current moment. It all seemed to fade away and fade back quickly, as his attention went from his thoughts to his new words.

“George…” He let out a slightly flustered sigh before he had fully come back, knowing what words he’ll now say. “In no way are you annoying me.” Although his words were sincere, trying finding the right tone.

“You do the opposite than that for me, George.” Dream let out suddenly, but slightly muffled.

George became speechless, his ears beginning to ring with the words Dream had tried to cover up. A warm shade of crimson patchily spread across his ears, cheeks, and nose.

George lost the train of thought and let his fingers do the thinking, bringing them up to his cheeks and feeling the immense heat that was radiating on his face. Slowly he traced his face with his hand until he got back to his lips, dripping his index finger in and out of his lip’s grooves, causing his face to deepen in colour.

Silence fell over the call for over 20 seconds when George snapped back into attention, thinking back to his unconscious acts, and cringed slightly. Only one question lingered in Georges's brain now.

“What is that meant to mean, Dream?” George spoke up his usual British accent, now not trying to hide his words and be very direct.

The call transitioned back into silence for another good 5 seconds before Clay had thought of a response. It wasn’t a very good one, but he could already tell his words had a different impact then what they were intended to do.

“It means your my best friend, George. I wouldn’t want you thinking I hated you.” Dream finally replied.

After thinking for two seconds, the call fell back into its casual banter, thanks to George. No telling how far it may have gone if they’d continued down the same road with different replies.

* * *

George lay on the side of his bed, scrolling through multiple social media accounts and apps when he wandered his way to his explore page on Instagram. He scrolled for a little before trying to find something he’d seriously like to get stuck into for the next 30 minutes.

And there he saw _Him_.

It was a man. But almost matched the exact description Dream had given him of himself. He had dirty blonde hair that was slightly too long, flowing and cascading down his forehead, ending right above his eyes.

His eyes almost piercing. They were on a sharp angle with a sea of blazing green settled inside of them.

And don’t get George started on his lips and jawline. His lips were a light but warm shade of pink.

_They’d perfectly match mine…_ George thought inside his head, contently staring at the man’s slightly plump but still rather skinny lips. They were a perfect size to intertwine with his.

His jawline was almost chiselled into his face and neck, so sharp someone could cut their palm while sliding it down the side of their face.

The man himself had is head turned to the right, also tipping his head back slightly, formulating an absolutely breathtaking picture.

He didn’t have to think about his next actions as his body fell straight into control. His fingers jumped to the send button and found Dream’s name, writing the following statement.

_Do you really look this good?..._ George asked, almost instantly getting a reply.

_Do you really want to know?_ Dream instantly shot back, a slight tinge of flirt in his message.

Dream bit his lip before running his hand through his hair, his face a light but vibrant shade of pink that spread across his whole face and burnt it ferociously.

His heart leapt and George’s reply.

_I really would… but I know I shouldn’t._

George had written back after about a good 10 seconds. And without any warning, George sent a damn cute picture, causing an aggressive intake of air.

It was the top part of his face, his dark but longingly and searching eyes looking to the side with his cheeks still stained with a light shade of pink as a hand rested over his nose, softly gripping it.

His hair though, is what drove Dream mad. It was the same, curly, and fluffy look that made him flush over with pink a few hours prior.

He pulled at his roots as he bit his lip further, trying to think of what to send back.

* * *

Two minutes later he found himself looking and the top half of his face on his camera roll, his blonde hair not completely dripping down in between his eyebrows, but was messing around on the top half of his forehead.

His eyes were a brighter and more golden shade of green, deep forest like specs of green added depth while the gold in his eyes flickered brightly in the camera’s flash. His eyes were about 2/3 closed, looking down at the camera slightly flirtatiously.

His hand- _Or what you could see of it-_ was resting over his mouth and cheeks.

Dream had never taken a picture like it but had now.

**_Sent to GeorgeNotFound_ **

****

**_Seen by GeorgeNotFound_ **

****

Clay held his breath for a few seconds, trying to predict George’s reaction.

**_GeorgeNotFound is typing…_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, THANKYOU so much for all the love I'm getting on this, I would've never expected over 50 views at most! Thats poggers.


	5. Cat Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pop a cat milk... cat milk makes the pain go away. :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter, as this chapter was meant to wrap up the whole cat idea. More will be in next chapter! Enjoy.

Two days later George sat in his car outside of the Vets office, where he sat weeping in sadness a few days before. He inhaled the warm car air for one last time before stepping into the freezing world outside his shell.

George quickly shut the door, keeping the warm air from seeping out into the snowy wonderland that was outside the Vet office. He reluctantly pulled up his coat as he strode towards the door, remembering the last time he was here.

He looked to the bench that was next to the door, sheepishly remembering how he harshly clutched the edge of the bench as he wept while his cheeks burnt from the temperature contrast. After pausing for a second, he disregarded it and continued inside, a small itch of sorrow developing in is throat.

He stepped foot into the uncomfortable and awkward environment inside the glass doors, his misty breath turning back to the usual invisible look most people associate their breath to look like. The place had the most memorable stench of hand sanitizer and dog, which was also imprinted into his mind from the days before.

He pulled down his giant puffy jacket, revealing the lower half of his gentle face. As he adjusted to the temperature (although only being outside for 15 seconds), he tangled and messed with his fluffy and now slightly curly hair that Clay had secretly admired days before.

For once, George appeared to be tall with his dark clothing. He unzipped his large, puffy jacket while he glanced around the room, only seeing one other person besides the receptionist behind the counter.

George huffed slightly before striding out to the front counter, preparing himself for what was next to come.

The receptionist glanced up with a glowing smile over her face. “How can I help you, Sir?”

George found himself glancing down at the lady as she stood up from her chair, gathering some papers in her and shuffling them on the counter. _For once he wasn’t the short one._

George glanced to the side, checking out the usual animal art inside a Vet clinic before replying, “I’m here to… pick up…” his voice trailed off, trying to think of the right combinations of words to say, but it seemed the receptionist caught the idea and her glowing face dropped.

“I’m… so sorry for your lost…” Her voice softened. “Can I get a name?” She slowly spoke, quiet and understanding; sympathetic.

“Uhm…” The British Man’s mind ran blank as he realized what he was doing. A small bead of guilt ran down his throat as he continued, “George”.

The receptionist typed a few keys on her keyboard before asking for identity and his phone number, which he slowly gave, his mind still not fully comprehending his loss.

After all, George was a sentimental man and loosing the thing that helped him through other grieving processes would bring back every ounce of guilt, anger, and grief his snowflake helped relieve.

After George was left in the lobby for around seven minutes, a nurse with a tight bun and warm brown eyes came around the corner, carrying a small, wooden box. George’s emotions instantly bubbled to the surface; his cheeks already flushed red as he began to tear up.

* * *

George sat outside the vet clinic like he did a few days prior, this time leaving with his snowflake… on the other seat… in a wooden box. George didn’t want to look at it while he drove, knowing it’d probably result in him crying so hard that he couldn’t see where he was.

He slowly turned up the radio, not knowing the song that softly played through his car’s speakers, but as he listened closely, his cheeks went from being pink because of the cold to being pink because of immense blushing.

This song somehow spoke to him on a _spiritual level,_ talking about how this girl admired this man over the internet, longing to hold his sharp jaw in her small and fragile hands and running her elusive middle finger over his lips.

George reluctantly looked down at his hands on the steering wheel. _Skinny fingers_ the British man thought to himself. He wasn’t sure how he felt this connection to the song, but he kept going.

_The perfect size to cup someone’s jaw in…_ George’s thoughts trailed off, completely forgetting about anything but driving and cupping someone’s beautiful face in his skinny fingers that were half hidden by the long sleeves of his jacket.

* * *

Once George got home, he sat in his garage. His attention flickered from his skinny fingers to his passenger seat, where the wooden box sat.

George blinked at it, reaching across his car for the smoothly varnished wooden rectangle box with gold hinges and embellishments. His fingers slipped underneath the box, effortlessly lifting it up and carefully carrying it into his house, leaving it on his counter as he stripped off his jacket and shirt, replacing it with a large mint green hoodie.

He opened the box, being guided by the nurse to do so when he gets home. As soon as he saw the contents inside, he leapt into a deep pool of mixed sadness and closure.  
  


Inside the box laid a small satin bag, which he knew contained the ashes. He held it in his hand softly, treasuring holding his cat in his hands again before putting it onto the counter. He investigated the box again, seeing it contained more content.

George’s eyes teared up as he lifted his cat’s collar up, the light blue and gold collar hung loosely on his fingers as his other hand tightly clutched his face as he silently sobbed, smiling. He finally had his little snowball back – as much as he would ever have of him again.

At the bottom of the box was a clay rectangle, with one of his pawprints pressed into it, capturing the short and stumpy paws his cat had. George didn’t have the energy to cry. Instead he happily ran his fingers in and out of the clay’s grooves, finally feeling somewhat at peace with himself.

After calming down slightly, George tapped his password into his phone – as his phone didn’t recognise the tucked-away-in-a-jumper face. He slid his finger across he screen until he found the Discord icon, not wasting too much time before clicking on it.

He navigated his way to Dream’s direct messages and lifted his phone slightly, capturing the beautiful pawprints engraved into the clay.

**_Isn’t it beautiful?_** George sent, awaiting a reply.

And the only thing he was sent back was a cheeky but somehow painful winky face. George would’ve thought he’d hold of with being cheeky – at least while he just received back his cat’s cremated remains. George slightly disgusted, was not being ready for what was to become of him in his kitchen in the next few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I would've never thought over 150 people would ever put their eyes on my work, but thankyou to anyone who has left a Kudo or even just read for fun. 
> 
> If anyone has any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, that would also be nice :)


	6. I wanna be yours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interesting moments ;)

George tensed his eyebrows as he looked at Dream’s unusual message. George would’ve suspected something sincere and respectful, not a “ _cheeky”_ text. The British man stared at his screen for a minute longer before writing back to Clay.

**The hell Dream.**

_\- Sent at 2:39 PM, by GeorgeNotFound_

George waited a minute, before seeing his delivered “tag” turn into a “seen” tag. The dark-eyed man waited for a typing bubble to appear, watching the three bubbles fade in and out of maximum opacity. Finally, the grey bubble faded away and a text appeared almost instantly.

**What do you mean “The Hell”, why would you hold a pet’s collar when you could hold mine?**

_\- Sent at 2:41 PM, By DreamWasTaken_

George’s face went from a slightly annoyed, tense eyebrow face to a dark crimson, flustered, and pissed-off mess. He was speechless. George didn’t know what to reply with, so he stayed true to his current nature of being speechless.

**I-**

_\- Sent at 2:41 PM, by GeorgeNotFound_

**I mean it, George. Hold _me._**

_\- Sent at 2:42 PM, by DreamWasTaken_

**The actual fuck Dream. Stop playing.**

_\- Sent at 2:43 PM, by GeorgeNotFound_

George paced around his kitchen after putting the light blue and gold collar down, throwing obscure and straightforward profanities at Dream. He raced over to his phone after it vibrated on the counter, soon for his face to flush a deep, dark red.

**I would never play George. I’d do anything for you. I’d fly to your house; I’d show you my face. I want you to hold me.**

_\- Sent at 2:44 PM by DreamWasTaken_

George threw another profanity at Clay under his breath before navigating to his numbers list, clicking on Dream’s. His phone began to buzz as it rang, waiting for Dream’s connection. After two or three repetitive pulses, the phone glitched into a call.

“Dream. What the absolute fuck?” George yelled through his phone speaker, moving away from his kitchen counter and into the middle space between his kitchen and couch.

” George. _One love, two mouths._ ” Dream whispered down the phone after a long pause, his voice warped and could be described as woozy.

After another few seconds, Clay breathed down the mic before continuing. “ _No shirt, No Blouse._ ”

His voice burning like fire, roaring through his ears and making George almost freeze in time. The mixed feeling of grief, anger, and a flirty sensation all swirled together in his stomach, making him feel ill.

* * *

At Dream’s end of the phone, he silently swigged another gulp of cheap liquor, his thoughts and perceptions were warped and tainted.

The way George was agitated almost made him feel like he was floating. It almost tickled his heart, making it flutter in a messed-up way. He lowered his voice and moved his mouth towards the phone’s microphone, intending to somehow force George feel the same, his thoughts still intoxicated.

“Come on, _Georgie_ , I know you _want me._ ’’ Clay’s voice made its way over thousands of mile’s to George’s ears, and after a good two seconds George was ready with his response.

“Dream. What the actual fuck. My face is burning so hard and I just received my cat’s cremated remains and now it’s the time for you to confess and tell me that I want you? That you want me to hold you?” All of this rushed out of George, almost like a mass amount of water bursting through the walls of a dam.

“I guess I thought I did… but just admit it, _Georgie_ , you want to whisper naughty things into my ear~” Clay lulled, at this point making it obvious he was intoxicated with the woozy and unsteady tone of his voice.

George pulled his phone away from his ear to feel the warmth on his cheeks, the anger melting away as he realized how satisfyingly warm his cheeks were. He let out a soft blow from his cheeks before putting the phone back to his ear.

“Dream…” George spoke up in his British accent before letting out another sigh, this one not as frustrated. “Dream, this isn’t the time. I’m going to go.” And before Clay could say anything, the Brit hung up.

* * *

30 minutes later George had packed up the contents from the Vet visit and was now sitting in front of his computer, the familiar streaming setup laid out in front of him.

For the past 20 minutes, he’d been explaining his inactivity and reading out the large mass of donations and subscribers with _respectful_ messages.

**Unlike Dream.**

George heard the repetitive donation sound ring through his ears, turning his head with a fake smile to thank the donor. At this point, the chat had seen it before he had the chance to read who the donor was and the note.

**DreamWasTaken - $50**

_Gogy come back. I know you really wanted it._

After a second, a robotic voice read out the donation, confirming the words that were written.

Chat was going ballistic, constantly asking what was happening. Were they a thing? Was it a joke? What did George “want”? Wait is George blushing?

The last question was in fact true, as George had turned away and buried his face into his hands, feeling the immense heat radiating off of his face.

After a minute, he let out a sigh, turning back to the camera.

“Hey guys, I know it was a short stream, but I’ve got to sort out what that donation was about. Thank you everyone for their condolences…” The Brit rang out, noticeably out of energy.

He signed off of the stream, instantly rolling over to the Discord application with his cursor. He took a minute to think about what to reply with; before he realized the truth. His face burnt with emotion as he wrote his next statement.

**You were right Dream. I do want you.**

­ _\- Sent at 3:21 PM by GeorgeNotFound._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys for not updating for a day. I've realized after writing 1300 word chapters every day for nearly a week that I'd prefer to write a few a week and put out tasty writing and non-butchered chapters. So, expect less frequent updates but better content :D


	7. Cheap Booze.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spicy moments that arent written that well :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for any crappy writing in this, as I've been working on this very on-and-off. Look at the end for more notes :)

George looked at his text 30 seconds later and cringed, his cheeks subtly glowing red as he buried his face in his hands. After another five seconds, he looked back up at his phone and ran his hand through his dark and still slightly curly hair.

**_What. The. Fuck. Had. He. Written._ **

****

Minutes of constant cursing out at himself for sending the stupid message in the first place was all sending him in a spiral. He was still meant to be grieving, right? And now his entire Twitch chat had seen Dream say that daft comment.

His stressed hand glided over to his message to try to delete it, before seeing a brief message at the bottom of his screen

**_DreamWasTaken is typing…_ **

****

This was it. George was about to pass away. His heart rate was through the roof, so loud, fast, and evenly paced as it rang throughout his ears and could be felt throughout his stressed body. Each individual beat radiated a warm but scary feeling on his body as he tried to anticipate his reply.

George’s body shook with Dream’s reply, sending him into the now well-known abyss of thoughts that George kept falling into a few days before.

**_Do you want to test that theory?_ **

_\- Sent at 3:27 PM by DreamWasTaken_

George twiddled his thumbs, glancing at the recent discord message.

****

**_THE FUCK._ **

George sat up in his seat, his head throbbing as he realized what he was actually doing and allowing.

It agitated him how easy it was for Dream to get his heart going like this, even when he’s drunk. A younger American - from what he knew, was straight, was making his heart flutter and putting him on cloud nine.

It would be messed up if George allowed it to continue, but it would also be boring if George stopped.

After all, everything Dream was saying was _true._

**Yes, Dream. I really do want to try.**

_\- Sent at 3:29 PM by GeorgeNotFound_

George bit his lip as he re-read his most recent message. He diced with the outcomes of the next message he’d write. Either way, even if they were just joking around, he still wanted to say it.

**Dream, your voice and texts are so invigorating. I want more.**

_\- Sent at 3:29PM by GeorgeNotFound_

* * *

Dream held his next drink in his hard, ready to take a swig. Mid gulp, he looked down at his phone as it buzzed with a reply. He spat out his cheap liquor, spraying it around the room. His eyes glazed over George’s recent messages, his cheeks slowly generating their own heat source, radiating, and changing the energy in the dark man cave that his room was.

_God, George. You’re such a threat to me. You’re so addicting_

Dream thought, biting his tongue harshly before trying to figure out what to say next. He couldn’t. Although they both seemed to be slightly intoxicated by each other and Dream was drunk with cheap liquor, he needed to call George.

* * *

George’s screen lit up with a discord notification.

**DreamWasTaken is Calling…**

_Accept or Decline._

George blankly starred at his screen, calculating his strategy and eventually clicking the accept button. He starred into the middle of the screen, where the usual derpy face that meets the vibrant lime green background would usually sit, only to be greeted by something else.

_It was a **face. A full face.** _

George took another second to calculate what was happening before letting out a gasp, admiring the face’s striking and intriguing features.

The man had a noticeably standard but still rather sharp and defined nose that sat between two sharply angled eyes that glared into the camera, almost hungry for something. The man had deep green eyes with golden flecks, like he had seen in the partial selfie a few days before. His dirty blonde mess of hair was sitting on the top of his head like a bird’s nest, no longer dripping down his forehead.

_His lips._ George noticed. His lips were plumper than expected, but not total Kylie Jenner sausages. _Nice and plump; perfect for kissing_. They were a nice warm shade of pink that fitted nicely with his face; although being slightly bitten.

The man had a jaw so sharp that it could probably be used as a kitchen knife of some sort. Although George’s hands were small and thin, he could imagine harshly gripping onto the corner of the man’s jaw.

“… _Dream_?” George spoke out, voice slightly shaky as he still admired the man’s features.

“Yes, _Gogy_?” The American replied, the man’s lips moving simultaneously; confirming that the man in front of him, was in fact, Dream.

Clay ran his large hand through his hair before shaking his head, grinning as his hair shifted down his head. The man laid back onto his bed, holding the phone above his face as his other arm laid below his head. The cheeky grin on his face widening as he spoke up.

“ _What_? Shocked~? I told you I would test the theory~.” Clay echoed back, still in a woozy and slightly distorted voice. His pupils that were slightly dilated focused in on the camera, gazing into George’s soul.

“ _I… Dream you’re so… **you’re so bloody hot.**_ ” George almost seemed to growl as he moved into his bed from his streaming setup. His voice cut deep into Dream’s mind, boggling through both of their minds.

George covered his mouth as he looked away from the man briefly, blushing incredibly hard. The man’s slightly flushed cheeks from the weak booze gave him that heart-fluttering glow that made George drool.

“So are you, _George_.” The younger man lulled; his voice so confident and burning in comparison to George’s.

The British man looked back to the camera that wasn’t even on, gravitating towards its gaze. George’s gaze then softly floated over to the **Turn Camera On** button, his thumb gently pressing down on it.

George looked down at himself in the camera before looking into the lens. He looked like a mess. His hair was still fluffy and curly, his cheeks were still warm and flushed with a dark crimson red and his eyes were slightly strained.

He flopped his head down on the pillow with one arm above him holding his phone before looking slightly up and to the right, still holding the phone.

George could hear a small gasp escape out his phone’s speakers that was quite evidently from Clay, which caused him to flick his head back to the camera while twiddling with one of his hoodie’s draw strings.

“What, Dream?” George asked, genuinely curious as he still tried to process that he now knows the face behind the intoxicating and chilling voice he had slowly become addicted to over the past few years.

George rushed back to reality from his little fluffy, heartfelt emotions to hear Dream letting out absurd sounds. It sounded like **vomiting.**

After two to three minutes of unpleasant listening, Dream croaked into the microphone “Sorry about that Gogy, cheap alcohol is now a no-go.”

“It’s ok Clay, but I’ve got to go.”

The call shortly ended after enduring a very small duration time. George sat there speechless as he tried to think of what the **FUCK** had just happened. His head hurt and throbbed as he tried to imagine how shitty Clay must feel with all the crappy liquor in his system, but his thoughts were also clouded by something at the opposite end of the spectrum.

How **HOT** Clay was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yea, uhm. Don't know how I feel about this chapter actually. It was fun to think of all the possibilities and I have so many ideas! But I felt I was getting a little too carried away so I dare say the next chapter will be more of a "Filler" with minimal flirty moments? Anyways, make sure to leave comments and Kudos as those really help, and I L O V E reading comments. 
> 
> See y'all in the next chapter.


	8. After Alcohol Ache.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk George gets even more mixed up man. But either way, we're gonna pop off soon.

George sat in his bed, quiet. Thinking. What had they just done? He ran his hand through his unbrushed hair that hadn’t seen a hairbrush since his snowball’s death and had become fluffy and curly since.

His fingertips gripped onto the longest piece of hair on his head and drags it down to his nose as he looked at his ceiling. His heart fluttered as he remembered their conversation just a few moments prior, his cheeks turning a subtle red in his dimly lit room.

It had all come out of nowhere, his cat’s death, knowing Clay’s appearance and now constantly thinking about how attractive the man was in general; how his voice burnt its way through George’s body, how his face was engraved into the British man’s brain.

How even thinking of Dream seeing him in real life made his entire body feel like it was on fire with how long he had longed for the experience, even before these thoughts.

George’s mind was boggled with so many different sensations and emotions, one minute a harsh wave of grief and sorrow would wash over him, remembering the recent loss; and then next minute a light-hearted but intense burning passion to kiss Clay as he tangled his hands through his dirty blonde locks.

**_Jesus Christ._ **

****

He had become a mess, and for what? What did wanting to make out with your best friend help you achieve? ‘ _It must be a phase of some sort… **hopefully**_ ’ George thought as he sat up, letting go of his dark and now fluffy locks.

He planted his face into his hands as he felt the heat on his cheeks increase as another wave of intimate thoughts rushed through his body. He can imagine Clay, as a whole. One entirely attractive unit. No matter what he imagined the man doing while in this mindset, it somehow made the heat on is flushed cheeks grow.

_“Fuck man”_ George whispered as the thoughts ceased, his face still burning as a small smirk formed on his face. No matter where he planted his thoughts, they always wandered back to the tainted subject that was **Dream**.

George licked his lips before looking back up at the computer that sat next to his bed. His smirk slowly faded into his neutral expression as he walked over and planted himself back in his usual seat.

After around 5 minutes of his thoughts being focused on managing DMs and taking care of admin, George’s mood changed as he saw a notification from the person he was thinking about under 10 minutes ago.

**Dream**

With frequent intervals, the red notification number would climb a digit or two. Trying to make himself look like he wasn’t sitting there, watching the notification appear and instantly clicking it, he waited until the number climbed a few times before opening the DMs

\- Gogy…

_Sent at 3:42PM, By DreamWasTaken_

\- I was out of my mind to say what I did

_Sent at 3:42PM, By DreamWasTaken_

\- I hope you don’t hate me Georgie.

_Sent at 3:42PM, By DreamWasTaken_

\- I was quite drunk… but I’ve sobered up now. I’m sorry Gogy

_Sent at 3:42PM, By DreamWasTaken_

\- But also your responses… what are those about? Are you a little tired or something?

_Sent at 3:42PM, By DreamWasTaken_

George couldn’t admit to himself his heart burnt slightly as he read the messages sent by the Floridian man. Of all people, he had to be best friends with a person halfway across the world.

For the last message, he didn’t even know why he replied in the weird way he did. It just felt… _natural_ at the time. George pulled down on his hair again like he had a minute beforehand as he opened his phone’s camera.

His thoughts were scuffed as he thought to himself: _Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck it._ The British man ruffled up his hair and turned the camera around to him, trying to find the most thirst-desperate camera angle. After a while, he got an almost shocking picture of George’s collarbone and jawline.

George’s pale skin contrasted with the small locks of hair you could see and his dark hoodie. His lips were just in frame; bitten and pink. It almost seemed like one of those _obnoxious_ thirst traps, but this time it was for Clay’s sacred eyes. George quickly pressed the _Send_ button on discord before falling back into the intoxicating void that was his now messed up thoughts.

George began to fall into the same, deep abyss of thoughts of Clay that almost seemed to clown on him while he awaited an answer. But George quickly snapped out of the thoughts as he heard the familiar discord notification noise.

**Holy. Fuck.**

_Sent at 3:44PM, By DreamWasTaken_

George grinned to himself proudly as he continued to try to dig deeper within Dream’s head and bury himself there as Clay did to him. His fingers quickly skidded around his keyboard as he typed out his response.

What would you like to see next, _babe?_

_Sent at 3:45PM, By GeorgeNotFound_

_What was he doing? **What was he doing?**_ It was all a blur to him. He knew it was morally wrong to even attempt to turn Clay on, but it was so entertaining to imagine him squirm in his seat in the warm and sticky state of Florida.

His thoughts were like a huge, jumbled mess, resembling a 1000 piece puzzle. So many opportunities and ways to connect the pieces, despite it being correct or not. A warm and tumbling ball of emotion sat in George’s throat as he awaited a response, thinking that he already had destroyed their friendship from a measly image.

* * *

Dream sat in his bed, gobsmacked. He had attempted to apologize for his drunk words and got sent an image of either a turned-on George or a George who just got a new sweater, and Clay was thinking the first option was the most plausible one.

_This will be fun,_ Dream thought, biting his lip and running his large hand through his dirty blonde hair. He continued to twiddle his thumbs as he thought for a good few seconds before coming up with maybe the most fun idea that may truly reveal George’s intentions.

Clay popped on the legendary-but-cursed grey sweatpants and took off his old **_Where’s Wally?_** shirt that he got at a fair 11 years ago and was far too big for him, now a faded green colour and only just fitting. He stood in front of the mirror and slightly tensed his muscles.

Clay spent the next few minutes awkwardly posing in his mirror-like some sort of _cringe_ Tik Tok boy, trying to think of the best way to turn on George. After a few scrap shots, Clay finally took the final picture.

It was a shirtless clay that had the bottom half of his face, featuring the _“PErfEcTly KissABle LipS”_ in George’s eyes. From his face to mid-thigh was shown, revealing how low the sweatpants were sitting on Dream’s frame.

His slightly toned body gleamed back into the phone’s camera from the mirror and was instantly sent to George. Clay awaited a reply, knowing he only made things more complicated between the two with that blasted picture.

* * *

**GeorgeNotFound is Typing…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the irregular chapters, but I feel its better for me to write when I feel i n s p i r e d. Also besties, please leave appreciation currencies like Kudos and Comments so we can get out there more :)


	9. Pre-teen relationship giggles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We poppin off boys. Kinda a little bit of flirting and ends with a little bit of confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I hate how inactive I've become because I really enjoy putting chapters out, so ill try more. :)

Clay bit his lip, millions of scenarios played through his head at once. Had he gone too far? George had edged him on to begin with, but at this point, this was dangerous territory. Slowly chewing away at his already bitten lip, he almost seemed to hold his breath until George’s reply appeared.

**_\- Holy fuck, Clay._ **

_Sent at 3:43 PM by GeorgeNotFound_

There was a slight pause after the first message, and after reading, it felt like Dream’s body was on fire with delight. He saw the classic “ ** _GeorgeNotFound Is Typing…_** ” notification and let him send the next message, and after a while, Dream found himself looking at a second message.

**_\- You look like you could pin me down with ease._ **

_Sent at 3:44 PM by GeorgeNotFound_

This made Clay’s heart quiver with delight as it did backflips in his chest. Muffling his small squeals with his hand, he typed out a message to George after a good 20 seconds.

**_\- Join the VC_ **

_Sent at 3:44 PM by DreamWasTaken_

* * *

George blankly looked at Dream’s most recent message. The last time they called, less than an hour ago, there were insane revelations within their friendship. There was mild flirting and George finally saw Dream’s face and now they were carrying on as nothing happened?

But as long as George got to talk to Dream again, then he was okay with it.

After a quick 10 second interval of tracking down which server call he’d join, George finally joined the call. This time, luckily for George’s sake, no camera was on.

An act that probably saved George’s heart from exploding if he only saw what Dream looked like after vomiting up the booze. After a good second or two, George spoke up.

“So…” George mumbled, still slightly stunned from Dream’s recent pic. “Uhm…” The silence went on for a little longer. As each millisecond crept by, George felt slightly more awkward. “So you want me to say you’re hot Dream?”

George’s tongue burnt as the words left his mouth, being extremely confrontational. After a second, George heard what seemed to be a loud bursting noise that was in fact Dream spitting out his water.

“George, I was drinking!” Dream joking yelled into the microphone, a smirk so big on his face you could hear it over the call.

“Do you want me to say it again?” George seemed to automatically say back, showing no emotions that would make you think he was now flustered or blushing and was in fact confident in his words.

Before Clay could react, George confidently and loudly spoke into the microphone, repeating his words from before but with a slightly more sincere and somehow steamy tone. “You’re hot, Dream.”

Clay chuckled in his usual, bubbly and wheezy self, the smirk in his voice growing by the second. After a good 10 seconds of small giggles and flattered gibberish, he managed to get himself together and shoot back.

“You’re pretty bloody cute as well Gogy,” Clay spoke back, the cheeky, smirk tone in his voice still remaining as he inhaled sharply after his sentence.

George lulled his head to the side and exhaled as he heard the sentence, a bright and rosy glow that no one could see spread its way across George’s pale cheeks.

After a little bit of natural silence as the two giggled flirtatiously to themselves, like some lovesick 12 year old, another voice spoke up that wasn’t originally in the call.

“Uhm... _Hi Guys_.” A familiar voice echoed through the call.

“Have we joined at the wrong time?” Another extremely familiar but higher voice echoed through the call and into Clay and George’s headsets.

**_Sapnap and Karl._ **

****

Clay let out a short “ _uh”_ before going silent.

The call falls silent for 10 seconds before Clay speaks up again, George saying silent, “How much of that did you guys hear?” Clay asked, the cheeky smirk in his voice quickly fading to an eyebrow-tensed and slightly annoyed face.

Another paused entered the call before Sapnap grumbled into a sentence. “What I assume is most of it…” Sapnap trailed off, an awkward tone building into his voice.

At that moment, George, and Clay both simultaneously cursed Discord Streamer Mode, which had caused them to miss the entry noise.

All that came from Karl’s bubble was aggressive typing and a pause before the both of them left, leaving only Dream and George in the call.

* * *

From both sides of the world, one of the boys would look at the other person’s discord character, awaiting some speech.

Clay was the first to speak up, his flirty attitude now gone and a frustrated and slightly angsty Dream was left behind.

“Fuck me, man,” Clay muttered to himself, standing up from his chair and turning away from the computer, running his large hand through his dirty blonde locks and tugging at them whilst tensing his eyebrows.

“If you gave me a chance, I’d take it” George muttered and seemed to giggle afterward, still slightly bubbly and almost seemed intoxicated from the 12-year-old flirt-fest earlier.

Clay clapped his hand over his mouth before swinging his head around to the monitor before looking away again, his face generating its own heat source. He let out a small muffled wince before going silent for a good few seconds.

“ _George_ …” He hungrily spoke into his microphone as he sat back down. “You’re going to drive me **_crazy_**. We can’t keep doing this.” Clay groaned before continuing, “You’re a threat to me, man… You’re driving me insane.” His voice burnt in his throat before going through his microphone.

George blankly starred at discord as a deep-voiced and almost **_growling_** Clay spoke into his headset. And as Dream spoke, a darting and blazing warmth tingled down his spine which made him shiver. Despite only talking to Dream like this for the past 30 minutes, he was stuck in his head.

These words made George’s heart **_sink._**

“In a _good way_ , George.” The American man blurted out in a panic, realizing the weight of his words without any supporting comments. “You’re driving **_me_** insane. You’re driving my **_heart_** insane”

Without thinking, the only response that George thought of was blurted out of his mouth in a very direct and loud manner.

“ ** _Good._** ” 


End file.
